The Inner Slut

Written the morning of the 27th, when the stupid server was still down:

I'm sitting here, supposed to be working on an update on the banner cases against the Marcoses and their cronies but, instead, reading Robert Ludlum's Bourne Supremacy and relishing every word. I'm actually smiling.

When this stupid server gets up and running, I'll be reading Tom's email. Most probably chatting with him via IM. I'll be telling him about my coming interview with that training company. We'll be patching things up and maybe planning for his next visit.

Sometime during the first two weeks of August, I'll be called in for my first interview with the ADB, as part of their hilarious institutionalized hiring procedure. Full of themselves; full of crap.

Server's ok and I've read Tom's email and answered it. I apologized for being such a failure in my supposed field of expertise, communication. I made a promise to be more transparent and honest, with him and, most especially, myself. He's answered back, remarking at the great email I sent and saying he's on the road at the moment, marketing a new product across the US but will make time at the end of the week to send me a longer email.

I met Jerry last night, after some months of silence. It was in April I first met him, for coffee and the usual preliminaries. Nice guy, 38, Filipino, married, local airline pilot. Not a looker; but neither is he ugly. He has cute dimples right at the corners of his mouth. We talked more than we fucked. Like most Filipinos, he has a small cock that can get really hard. His was just right. It felt good in me, too. And since he was a breasts man, he had a great time with mine. But after that explosive night with Stew, I couldn't give Jerry a even small squirt. I've really depleted my cum glands. Amazing.

Afterwards, we sat on the bed, him, smoking and me, trying to keep my eyes open. I asked him to give me that speech that pilots give right before take-off. He couldn't believe what I wanted him to do.

"I'm stark naked!" he said, laughing.

"So? It's not the uniform that makes you a pilot! It's not the badge that makes you a captain! C'mon, let's hear it!"

"No way!"

"C'mon! Ok, deal. I won't look at you," I said, throwing the blanket over my head. "Go!"

It took a while but, finally, he relented and gave a half-hearted rendition of the speech. I complained but he wouldn't stop laughing about it. "The next time I give this speech in the cockpit, I don't think I can keep a straight face."

As we were leaving, I spotted his cap on the backseat of the car. I picked it up and handed it to him.

"Let's see how you look in this thing!"

Jerry put it on and turned to me. I took one long look and said sedately, "Home, James."

"Yes, ma'm!"

He couldn't turn the key in the ignition for laughing so hard.

I'm going to continue to see this guy, if only because I find it remarkably comfortable talking to him, and he feels the same way. He has a genuine interest in what happens to me and what goes on in my life. He is such a relief after all the cold play that goes on out there. Needless to say, I've found a real friend.